


Recruitment

by TheBatchild



Series: Undisclosed [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, beginning of familial relationship, beginning of friendship, beginning of series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 13:03:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3291299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBatchild/pseuds/TheBatchild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quinn Scott wasn't sure where her life was headed after high school, so when a stranger shows up in the park and presents her with an opportunity, she could hardly say no.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Recruitment

**Author's Note:**

> This is the beginning of my MCU fic, which will be written and published in smaller fics and one-shots. I'll put them in a series title Undisclosed, so the order is clear, but they will all have dates at the beginning of the fics and chapters as well. 
> 
> And I don't really need to have another fic on the go, but damn did it feel good to finish something and publish it.

_July 4th, 2002  
_ _Washington, D.C._  

“You know this is usually a day people spend celebrating.” 

Quinn started at the unexpected voice and looked up from her book, her face quickly twisting from shock to resentment for the man who had broken her solitude—or, relative solitude, since she was sitting on top of a picnic table in the middle of a park currently teaming with families celebrating Independence Day. The man was of average height, with a kind face, and an expensive-looking suit. He looked entirely out of place amongst the families, the smells of cooking meat, the sunshine, and the shrieks of children, but he didn’t look uncomfortable. He looked utterly at home, with a small smile on his face. There was an odd presence to him, something that made Quinn want to sit up straighter. 

She narrowed her eyes and slouched forward more, hands clasped around her book. “My parents are too busy to celebrate, if you must know, and I don’t see the point in celebrating alone.” 

“Sorry to hear that.” 

The narrowed eyes turned into an outright glare. “Can I help you with something?” 

He offered her a friendly smile, his eyes sparkling slightly with something that looked like amusement; Quinn wasn’t sure she liked this man. “You are Ms. Quinn Scott, correct?” 

“Would you be talking to me if you thought I wasn’t?” The man’s smile remained and Quinn huffed, knowing she wasn’t going to get a reaction from him. There was something unsettling in his stoicism. She clenched and unclenched her jaw a few times. “Yes,” she said. “I’m Quinn Scott. Would you please just tell me who you are and what you want? I would like to get back to my book and my not celebrating.” 

“May I sit?” 

“It’s a free country.” 

Quinn shifted down the picnic table as the man undid his suit jacket and sat beside her, his shining shoes propped on the bench in front of him, forearms on his thighs. As he moved, the very edge of a holster appeared at his hips behind his jacket. The man followed Quinn’s gaze. He didn’t start, didn’t say anything, just casually adjusted his jacket to hide the holster and the weapon it contained before returning to his previous posture, like nothing was amiss. Like he wasn’t armed in the middle of a park. 

“My name is Phil Coulson,” he said. “And I work with SHIELD.” 

“I’m sensing a government acronym here.” 

A noise that might have been a laugh escaped through Coulson’s lips. “Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division,” he said.   

Quinn raised her eyebrows. “That’s a mouthful.” She inserted her bookmark in place and set the closed book down on the table beside her, knowing any form of visual protest to his company was useless. “And what does the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division want with an eighteen year old girl?” 

Coulson withdrew an envelope from the inside pocket of his suit jacket and handed it to her. Quinn accepted it and pulled out several sheets of paper, tri-folded in a very crisp and professional manner. She raised an eyebrow at her unwanted companion before unfolding the pages and skimming through them, her brow furrowing deeper as she absorbed the information laid out before her. When she finished reading, she calmly placed the envelope and letter under her book so they wouldn’t blow away. For a few moments, her and Coulson stared each other down, the noise of the celebrating families fading to the background as Quinn tried to read something, anything on Coulson’s face, any sign that he was playing a joke or misleading her, though she wasn’t sure why he would be. 

But the proposal contained in those pages could not be real. 

Quinn had only heard of this SHIELD agency in the whispers and bellows of conspiracy theorists, and had never really known what to believe. There was only one person who’d spoken of SHIELD whose word she trusted—and he’d only spoken of SHIELD in the vaguest of terms—but he was no longer alive to talk to about SHIELD. Regardless, SHIELD was a secret agency, a group in the shadows, and now they were offering her the chance at a position in their ranks, based on her scores in some test they’d sent out to all grade twelve glasses in the country. A test Quinn couldn’t recall taking, but then, high school was sort of just a series of tests to her. 

SHIELD wanted to see if she was worth their time though, and that meant something to her, though she might never admit it out loud. 

“So what’s next?” she asked, pulling her tawny eyes from Coulson and focusing on the children tearing across the grass in a game of tag. Her voice came out much quieter than she’d intended. 

“If you accept, you will sign a bunch of paperwork, committing yourself to silence, and be brought to one of our facilities for further testing, which will determine where you would be placed within our ranks, were you to join us.” 

“More testing?” 

One corner of Coulson’s mouth quirked up in the first genuine expression Quinn had seen from him. “Only part of the testing is written, if that’s what you’re worried about. The majority of the second level testing is physical. SHIELD is more interested in your skills and capabilities this time around.” He gave her another smile, this one wider, more open. “Taking part in the tests doesn’t mean you’ve committed to anything.” 

Quinn fell silent again and kept her eyes on the children and families in the park as she let her mind wander, as she went over the choices for her future. She’d applied to colleges like she was supposed to, like her adoptive parents wanted her to. She’d imagined a stable future for herself that might have been a little dull, but at least it would balance out the chaotic nature of her childhood. Maybe she’d get a desk job somewhere, maybe she’d teach. She’d also imagined a future where she was stuck in some dead-end job, living paycheque to paycheque until she wound up poor and homeless, her particular skills unsuited for a good career. 

But now… Now she had another option, one she never would have seen coming. 

She picked up the folded pages and read the words again, running her fingers along the edges of the paper, forcing herself to believe this was real, that this was a viable option for her future. The eighteen year old chewed on her lip. She didn’t feel old enough to make this decision. She didn’t feel smart enough or informed enough to make this decision. If she could have, Quinn would have asked her parents for advice, but she got the feeling SHIELD didn’t like its presence broadcast; it wasn’t like either of her parents would know what to say, anyways. They weren’t particularly tapped in to anything outside the world of banking and though they’d never been neglectful, they’d never exactly been attentive either. There was no one to make the decision for her, or even to help her make it. 

Quinn’s eyes locked on the eagle insignia in the letterhead. “I’ll do it,” she said quietly. “I’ll do the tests; find out if there’s a place for me at SHIELD.” She tucked the pages into her book and hopped off the table. “You promise doing these tests doesn’t mean a commitment?” 

Coulson nodded and climbed off the table as well, giving her a level gaze. “I give you my word, Ms. Scott,” he said in a voice that told Quinn he took his word seriously. He pulled another sheaf of paper from a pocket inside his coat and passed them to Quinn, who unfolded them and read over the pages quickly. “You can’t tell anyone about SHIELD.” 

“That stands to reason,” Quinn said, reaching out for a pen. Coulson slipped one into her fingers and Quinn scratched her signature in the designated spot. “Since it’s a secret organization and all.” 

The agent regarded Quinn with a raised eyebrow, perhaps trying to determine or understand her sarcasm in that moment. He accepted his pen and the signed pages and tucked them back into his pocket. “I will send a car to pick you up next Thursday at 9:00am. Everything you need will be provided for you at the facility.” 

Quinn nodded, swallowed past a sudden lump of nervousness in her throat, and shook Coulson’s hand when he extended it. “I, uh, guess I’ll see you then.” 

He gave her another smile, a friendly one that matched her initial impression of him. “Happy Fourth of July.” 

Quinn stood still and watched Coulson walk back to his car—a nondescript black sedan, of course—and then turned and started along the path that would take her home. She had some research to do. She needed to find out everything she could about SHIELD, and she knew exactly where to start. 

* * *

_July 11th, 2002  
_ _Washington, D.C._

Quinn’s great-grandfather on her mother’s side had been a Colonel in World War II, and had, unbeknownst to all but those closest to him, kept journals detailing his experience—thoughts, feelings, hopes, fears; the whole shebang. He’d also been involved in the Strategic Scientific Reserve, the organization that had eventually become SHIELD, and it was his word Quinn trusted above all others when it came to the nature of the secret organization. Though he had passed away before Quinn entered the world, she had found his journals at an early age, covered in dust and stuffed in a cardboard box in the corner of the attic, where they’d promptly become forgotten by two generations who didn’t care. She’d read them a hundred times, fascinated by his accounts of the war, by the stories he wrote down, by the vague hints he dropped about the SSR. He could never give away too much, understandably, but those hints were tantalizing and had fed her love of and interest in history. 

When she returned home after her meeting with Coulson, she immediately poured over the familiar volumes, committing every mention of the SSR and SHIELD to memory, as little as those mentions gave her to go on. Then she turned to the internet, to the conspiracy nuts who spent their lives trying to learn the secrets of the world of espionage. She didn’t glean too much from her searching. From theories as banal as claiming SHIELD had agents all around the world to ones as ludicrous as to say SHIELD had bases on the moon—there was just too much to sift through in a week. But it helped to pass the time and to keep her imagination from running away with her. 

On Thursday morning, Quinn woke and dressed early, though she had no idea what to wear, and changed three times, going from fully professional, to casual, and landing on a happy medium in dark jeans and a black blouse. She managed to eat a bowl of cereal, and then parked herself on the front porch to wait, her keys and ID cards in her pockets, and her favourite volume of her great-grandfather’s journals clutched in her hand. Quinn had tried reading it, but she was too amped up to concentrate.   

At 9:00am precisely, another non-descript black sedan came to a stop at the curb outside Quinn’s house. She rose to her feet and, forcing herself to breathe deeply and evenly, headed down the path. Her stomach was doing flips, her breakfast threatening to reappear. The back door of the sedan opened as she approached, and Agent Coulson’s smiling face appeared in her version for a brief second before he slid back over to his side of the car. 

“Good morning Ms. Scott,” he said as she settled on the leather seat beside him. 

She swallowed the lump in her throat and willed her stomach to calm down. “Morning.” Quinn buckled her seatbelt, and then wrapped her hands tightly around the journal in her lap, too nervous to be annoyed by Coulson’s chipper demeanour as she had been in the park.

“What’s that?” 

Her head snapped up, her eyes narrowing. Her siblings and her birth parents hadn’t cared about her great-grandfather’s journals, and she’d grown protective of them, of one of the only constant things in her life. But Coulson’s face was as calm and friendly as it had been the week before, and it truly wasn’t irritating or off-putting to her now; he was just making conversation, and she found she was grateful for the attempted distraction. Quinn cleared her throat and gave her head a little shake to clear it. 

“Uh, it’s one of my great-grandfather’s journals. Sort of a security blanket,” she added timidly. 

Coulson’s eyes widened. “Colonel Chester Phillips?” 

Quinn wasn’t really surprised that Coulson knew who her great-grandfather was, so she just nodded, a small smile creeping onto her face. “Only a few people knew he kept them. This one—” she raised the leather-bound book, fingers drumming out a quick beat on the cover, and then dropped it back into her lap “—is my favourite. It’s the only one where he talks about Captain America. I usually have it with me.” She saw the interest spark in Coulson’s eyes at the mention of the famed super soldier, and knew without asking that he was a fan, same as she. Though she didn’t really want to share the words that had for so long been hers alone, Quinn found she liked the idea of having something in common with the man sitting beside her. “You can read it, if you want.” 

Coulson took the proffered journal and, handling it gently, opened it and began scanning the pages of Colonel Phillips’ neat but bold writing. “You have more of these?” 

“A lot more. The earliest one I have is from the beginning of the war, and they go until his death. He writes something at the beginning about thinking the journals will help with the stress. Apparently he didn’t sleep very well during World War I.” 

“You’ve read them all?” 

Quinn nodded. “Many times.” 

Silence fell as Coulson’s attention was consumed by the book in his hands. Quinn turned her attention to the world outside the tinted window of the car, and watched the D.C. scenery slide by. She didn’t know where exactly they were, though she could tell they were heading out of the city proper, and were headed inland. Her thoughts, still addled as they were by nerves, jumped topics from Colonel Phillips, to Captain America, to her potential failure, to what she would do if she did fail. Thinking about her great-grandfather, and how she was following in his legacy, had added another level of pressure to the situation; she wrapped her arms around her stomach and sighed. 

Her stomach lurched as the car turned onto a gravel driveway and pulled up to a very official and boring-looking building. It was grey, and only three storeys tall, with a lone security checkpoint blocking entry. A tall fence topped with curling barbed wire surrounded the property. There was nothing marking it as belonging to SHIELD, but Quinn had no doubt they’d arrived at their destination. 

She exhaled a shaking breath as they pulled past the security booth and came to a stop outside the front door. Quinn unbuckled her seatbelt and climbed out of the car, gratefully accepting her great-grandfather’s journal from Coulson as he came around to her side of the car. 

“So what’s going to happen once we step through those doors?” she asked as they stood just outside the entryway. 

Coulson stopped with his hand halfway to the door handle and turned around, hands sliding into the pockets of his suit. “First, you’ll meet your examiner. You’ll do the written testing first, and then the physical stuff—shooting, endurance, hand-to-hand combat; nothing surprising. Every step of the testing will be explained. I’ll be with you all day, and like I said, everything you need will be provided for you, including a locker to store your belongings in.” 

Quinn looked down at the journal and then back up at Coulson. She handed it to him again. “I’d rather you hold onto this, if you don’t mind. You can finish reading it.” 

“I’ll take good care of it,” he said with a nod. “Are you ready?” 

“As I’ll ever be.” 

Coulson gave her a reassuring smile and opened the door, gesturing for her to precede him inside. She exhaled, rolled her shoulders and then entered the building, clenching and unclenching her fists as she walked. Quinn was suddenly glad to have Coulson there, to know that he’d be there all day. She still wasn’t sure if she liked him, and she definitely didn’t trust him farther than she could throw him, but he was a familiar face and anything that kept her from feeling like she wasn’t alone was welcome. Quinn gave him a weak smile as he came up beside her, and together they headed past a bored-looking woman at a desk and down the empty hall beyond. 

* * *

Several hours and a bunch of exhausting tests later, Quinn found herself sitting on a bench in the locker room at the SHIELD facility, staring at the wall. She was achy and tired but her mind was racing and she couldn’t stop smiling; she knew she wasn’t going to sleep when she got home anyway. Quinn had enjoyed the physical testing more than anything in her life—running, shooting, combat; it had been a blast. She could leave the written tests, and the psychological interview, but they were a small blemish on what had been a great day. She’d come to the locker room after finishing the last test, showered and changed, and now she was waiting. For Coulson, for her examiner Agent Decker, for someone to come and tell her what the next step was. Waiting quite impatiently. 

After a few more minutes of sitting as still as she could manage, Quinn got to her feet and left the locker room, poking her head out into the hall and looking both ways before striding smoothly in the direction she thought the front door was. She wasn’t interested in getting lost in the twisting halls of the SHIELD facility, but she was interested in getting information. After only one wrong turn, Quinn found herself in the front foyer of the building, a different bored-looking woman sitting behind the desk. 

She regarded Quinn with a long stare, her grey eyes narrowing for a second, before she turned back to her book. 

“You weren’t planning on leaving without your journal?” 

Quinn turned and found Coulson standing in the hallway behind her, Colonel Phillips’ journal held out towards her. She took it and held tightly. “Of course not. I was looking for you or Agent Decker. What’s next?” 

“Next, I take you home. Your test results will come through a few days, and when they do, you will be informed of your standing.” The official spiel done, Coulson leaned in and smiled. “I wouldn’t worry too much, Ms. Scott. You did quite well.” 

The young woman found the smile back on her face. “Thank you, Agent Coulson.” 

“Do you have all your things?” 

Quinn raised the journal in her hand. “Everything I came in with.” 

Coulson gestured towards the door. “Let’s head out then. I’m sure your parents would like you home for dinner.” 

She shrugged as they stepped back out into the world. “Even if they’re home at dinner time, we don’t generally eat together. They’re very busy people. Well, they work a lot.” Quinn was aware of Coulson’s eyes on her, but she didn’t meet his gaze or respond to the unasked question or unspoken statements that usually followed comments about her parents. Coulson didn’t say anything. 

The hot summer day had given way to a mild evening, and as they waited for a car to come around to the front of the building, Quinn closed her eyes and let the breeze slide across her face. It felt good after a day of running around and shooting things. She pushed the thoughts of her home life out of her head and let herself be excited about her potential future with SHIELD. Another black sedan came to a stop in front of them and Coulson opened the door for her. Quinn slid into the back seat, the journal held in her lap. She buckled her seat belt and kept her eyes glued to the world outside the tinted window. After Coulson climbed into the back seat as well, the driver pulled away from the SHIELD facility and Quinn felt a pang of sadness. She wanted to know he test results of her testing now. She wanted to know if the potential future was going to be her actual future. 

“How many journals did Colonel Philips leave?” 

Quinn gave a little start, and then smiled at Coulson; he had a knack for knowing when she needed to be distracted apparently. “I have twenty-seven. From 1939 to 1966, right before he died—roughly one journal per year. I don’t know if there were any more, though the last one does just sort of leave of, so I’m inclined to think there are more. Somewhere.” 

“He had a gift for getting his feelings across through words.” 

“He did. The section where he’s talking about Dr. Erskine’s death… I can’t imagine what that would have been like to watch in person. Everything I’ve read about Dr. Erskine gave the impression he was a remarkable man.” 

“Do you read a lot about World War II?” 

Quinn nodded, and shifted on the seat so she could better face Coulson. “I like history, and I especially like conspiracies throughout history, and the obsession with the occult. Project Rebirth was sort of a combination of those things before I found these journals—just a brief mention in a textbook here and there. It was shocking to find out a relative of mine was involved in Project Rebirth.” 

“Is that why that’s your favourite journal? “ 

“Partially. I also…” Quinn looked away from Coulson, silently cursed the blush that crept across her cheeks. “I also like reading about Captain Rogers. He sounds like an incredible person, and I would like to meet him. If you know, that wasn’t impossible.” Quinn looked down at the journal for a second before she opened it and pulled an aged and worn photograph out of the back pocket in the journal. She glanced at the familiar faces of those admitted to the SSR’s Super Soldier program, her great-grandfather, and Peggy Carter, and then passed the photograph to Coulson. “This is the other reason this is my favourite journal. I like this photo.” 

Coulson held the photo as if it was some greatly fragile thing. He looked at it briefly, and then back up at Quinn, a look of slight wonderment on his face. “This is quite the photograph to have.” 

“I know. I’ve never shown it to anyone before. It’s sort of like… my only connection to my great-grandfather. I don’t like broadcasting it.” 

He nodded like that made perfect sense to him. Maybe it did. It wouldn’t be that hard for someone who knew Quinn’s history—mother left, taken from her alcoholic father and split up from her four siblings, and thrust into the foster system—to sympathize with an intense connection she’d have to something left from her actual family. Coulson took a longer look at the photograph, and then handed it back to Quinn, who tucked it gently back into place. He watched her with a warm expression on his face, a look that made Quinn feel both embarrassed and comfortable at the same time. It was an odd feeling, but she quite liked it. 

“If you do join SHIELD, I’ll have to show you my Captain America trading cards,” he said, with a small and slightly mischievous grin. 

Quinn returned the grin. “I’d like that.” 

Coulson’s smile shifted to something warmer, something that brought a matching smile to Quinn’s face. A few seconds later, the car came to a stop outside Quinn’s house. She thanked Coulson, and gave him one more smile, before climbing out of the car and walking up the path to the front door. She remained on the porch as the sedan drove down the street, pulled back into traffic, and vanished into D.C. proper. With a sigh, Quinn pulled her keys out of her pocket and unlocked the front door—her adoptive mother and father weren’t home; probably still at the office—and stepped inside. She was reluctant to shut the door behind her, like it would shut out the day she’d had, but she did after a moment, sighing to herself when she was shut inside the house. 

Quinn wasn’t looking forward to waiting for her results, but at least she knew how she was going to pass the time—rereading Colonel Phillips’ journals. 

* * *

_July 12th, 2002  
_ _Washington, D.C._

Quinn didn’t like being woken up at all, and she really hated being woken up by the phone. However, since she was waiting for the results of her SHIELD testing, when the phone rang at an ungodly hour the morning after her visit to the SHIELD facility, Quinn kept her grumbling to a minimum. She climbed out of bed, yawned and stretched, and padded down the hall to the study where the closest phone was, the hem of the overly large t-shirt she wore to bed flapping around her thighs. 

“Hello?” she said, bringing the phone to her ear as she dropped into the cushy chair behind the desk. Her head dropped back against the headrest and her eyes drifted closed of their own accord; normally she wouldn’t be up for another few hours. 

 _“May I speak to Ms. Quinn Scott, please?”_

“Speaking,” she said around a yawn. 

Quinn tried to keep herself from yawning again as the person on the other end of the line said, _“Good morning, Ms. Scott. It’s Agent Decker.”_

She sat up a little straighter, and forced her eyes open. “G’Morning. Do you have my results from the tests already?” 

 _“I do. We don’t have too many prospective agents currently, so your results were processed quite quickly.”_ Quinn heard some papers shuffling around, and then a faint tapping, like Decker was gathering pages and stacking them neatly before probably tucking them in a file. Even though she had barely spoken to Decker, she’d got the impression that he was a very neat man; she imagined his desk had everything lined up perfectly. _“Your physical test results were all well above what we except for our beginning agents and you appear to thrive in a disciplined environment. You adapt quickly and smoothly and can think on your feet faster than many.”_

Quinn was wide awake then, a smile on her face and her mind racing with the possibilities of her future. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, to Decker, but before she could get any words out, Decker cleared his throat and continued speaking. 

 _“Unfortunately, your written tests were not at the level we expect, and your psychological profile raised a few flags.”_

Her face fell, and she dropped farther into the chair. The bubble of excitement that had been building popped, and she suddenly felt sick. She rubbed at her eyes with her free hand, tying to wake herself up a little bit. “What… what are you saying?” Her voice came out in a sort of breathy gasp she didn’t particularly like, but she felt appropriately winded for the sound. 

_“I am saying that we can’t accept you into the SHIELD Academy at this point. I am sorry.”_

While Decker sounded genuinely sorry—whether for the bad news or having to deliver the bad news—the shock Quinn felt at the news was quickly replaced with anger. She mumbled something like a thank you and/or a goodbye and hung up the phone, perhaps slamming it down on the receiver a little harder than she should have. Angry and a little dazed, Quinn returned to her room and stood in front of the window, staring at nothing; she squinted against the golden light of morning and hated the sun for being so bright when she felt so dark. A week ago, she’d barely known about SHIELD, about what they did, and now, now she was mourning the future she’d lost with them, a future she’d never really had. The decision wasn’t anything personal, and rationally Quinn knew that, but it still felt almost like a betrayal. 

Quinn shook her head and went about getting dressed, her motions wooden. She didn’t really feel like getting dressed, like doing anything, but like hell she was going to mope around in bed. She gave her head a shake and pulled on her favourite pair of jeans, with holes in the knees, and a baggy t-shirt. She brushed her hair and, once she was in some semblance of order, Quinn retrieved the book she was reading, and the next one in that series, and headed into the backyard. Maybe getting lost in a book would help. 

* * *

“Your mother said you’d been out here all day.” 

Quinn looked up at Agent Coulson. Actually, since she was hanging upside down on a swing, she looked down at Coulson as he approached, striding across the lawn with his hands in the pockets of his navy blue suit. His face was placid, and she was reminded of when they’d first met in the park a week ago. With a sigh, she twisted out of the swing and then rose to her feet in front of Coulson, hands on her hips. She wanted to yell and scream at Coulson, take out the rage she was still feeling on him, but instead, she just stood there and stared at him. 

He didn’t say anything. He barely even moved. 

“Why are you here?” she asked finally. 

“To see how you’re doing.” 

“Really? You came all the way back here to see how I’m doing? I thought it would be pretty obvious.” Quinn took a half-step towards Coulson, her tawny eyes flashing. One hand came up and she poked him hard, in the chest. “You show up out of the blue and give me this opportunity—something I’d never even dreamed about—and you get me all excited about the possibilities and tell me I did a great job and then I find out that I’m not going to get to follow up on those possibilities, that I’m not going to be able to experience this future. And why? Because I didn’t answer some stupid questions properly, and because I had a shitty childhood.” She glared harder at Coulson for a heartbeat and then backed off; she hadn’t been yelling, but she was close to it. “This isn’t fair,” she said, her voice falling.

Coulson was annoyingly silent for a few heartbeats. Quinn watched him, but his face remained stoic. Until a small smile pulled at one corner of his mouth. “You’re right,” he said. “It’s not fair.” 

She groaned, gestured vaguely at the air between them. “So you came back here to agree with me?” 

That small smile grew. Quinn wanted to smack him. “No. I came here to tell you that I thought the decision not to accept you was unfair, and that I went to the man in charge of admissions to the Academy and told him so. I told him your physical test results should be enough to at least get you a shot, and that your past—a past you had no control over—shouldn’t affect your future.” 

Quinn blinked slowly a few times. For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, she felt blindsided. “What? I’m in?” 

Coulson, who was practically beaming by this point, nodded. “You’re in.” 

She wanted to jump up and down and holler in excitement. As it was, she ran her fingers back through her dark brown hair, and dropped her eyes to the grass, stared blankly at her bare feet surrounded by the sun-warmed grass. “What’s the catch? Probationary or something?” 

“The SHIELD Academy of Operations has the most aggressive program of the three divisions of SHIELD, and roughly forty percent of students wash out. It is your probation.” Agent Coulson crossed his arms over his chest and shrugged with one shoulder. “And, I stuck my neck out for you. You’re my responsibility.” His face hardened in the space of a blink. “So don’t screw up.” 

The pair of them were silent for quite some time, Quinn studying Coulson’s face, looking for any sign of a lie or trick or something. Coulson stood still and let her observe him, his face placid again. Quinn was wary about believing in this again, in going for the prize hanging so tantalizingly in front of her. She wanted to believe Coulson, wanted to say yes, but she didn’t want to dive in and smack her head; she didn’t want to feel the mix of betrayal and rage she’d been dealing with all day, not again. 

“Why would you stick your neck out for me?” she asked. She crossed her arms across her chest tightly, like she was putting up a barrier between her and the answer she’d asked for. 

Coulson gave a small sigh, slid his hands back into his pockets. “Because I watched all your tests. You have the drive and determination SHIELD agents need, and there are far too people with those qualities. You would be good, maybe even great. You just need the chance. You can learn to answer the questions properly, and you can overcome the shitty childhood. You are overcoming it.” The smile Coulson gave Quinn then was the warm and friendly one he’d given her in the car on the way home, and all day during her tests. “You have the chance if you want it, Quinn.” 

“I want it,” she practically gasped. 

“Then welcome to SHIELD.” 

Quinn finally let herself be happy, a bright smile spreading across her features. She didn’t care about what she was going to tell her parents, and she didn’t care about the possible ramifications of such a decision. She didn’t care about anything else in that moment. “Thank you, Boss.” 

Coulson rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling. “Don’t thank me yet. Let’s go inside and talk to your parents.” 

Quinn nodded and led the way inside, doing nothing to conceal the grin on her face.

 


End file.
